


Holding Hands

by orphan_account



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 Day OTP Challenge, featuring 00Q. Nonlinear, mostly pre-established 00Q.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Hands

“You might want to pick up the pace a bit, 007. You’re almost there.”

Doors burst open in front of him and slammed shut behind as Q navigated Bond through the maze of tunnels in the building.

“Yeah, well, maybe if that alarm was turned off, I wouldn’t have to be running away from the people with the guns, Q!”

Needless to say, Bond wasn’t impressed. His target was down, but not without taking out the asset he was meant to be escorting, the blood of the woman slowly staining his suit. He tried not to add the woman’s name to the list of people who had died instead of him, the list of people who weren’t alive and he still was, by some cruel miracle.

“I can assure you I’m already looking into why that didn’t work, 007, but currently, my priority is getting you out alive. Turn left.”

Q’s voice sounded tense, and Bond knew there would be a conversation when he got back to Headquarters, and another one when they both got back to their apartment. Q was stressed and tired, but at the moment he didn’t care. He felt far too much like a rat being watched as he ran from room to room and he wanted out. Preferably ten minutes ago.

“There’s a staircase around the corner, run to the Ground Floor and you’re free to go. I’ve blocked the other doors, so no one should be bothering you.” But as soon as Q spoke, a round of gunfire rang out through the corridor. Bond swore as he felt a bullet clip his left thigh, and another one whizz through his calf. He leant against a wall and shot back, bringing the other person down with a single bullet to the head.

“OK, now I really want to leave.”

“Bond, what’s happened? You’re standing in a blind spot.”

“Been shot twice in my left leg, both went through. Staircase around the corner?”

Bond pushed off the wall and started jogging, his leg screaming at him.

“Don’t worry about the bloody staircase!”

A door slid open next to him and he whirled, pointing his gun, but the room was empty. On second glance, it was a lift.

“Get out of it, Q, I can take the stairs.”

“No need for heroics, Bond, get in. It’ll take you to the garage where the car is.”

“I left the car on the street,” Bond said, still standing in the corridor.

“And it’s already been taken away by another agent, there’s a car with someone from the Med Team waiting for you in the garage. Get in the lift, Bond!”

Bond paused for another moment.

“Now, 007!”

Bond snapped. If anything else could have gone wrong in the mission, it would have, and this was the final straw. Fancy technology aside, he didn’t need to be looked after, and he certainly didn’t need to be chauffeured away from a dodgy mission. He stepped away from the lift and headed for the stairwell, picking up speed as he pushed himself further.

“Bond, what are you doing?”

“Getting outside, where my car better be waiting for me,” he growled back, pain causing his leg to spasm. He caught hold of the railing and leant on it heavily before pushing off and starting down the second flight of stairs.

“You’re in no condition to-” Q began, but Bond had had enough.

“For God’s sake Q, I need a car, not a bloody wet nurse. I don’t know where you got the idea that I need someone to permanently hold my hand, but I don’t! Get the people in the bloody car to go recover the asset’s body, if you actually want to be useful.”

There was silence from the other end, and Bond felt a twinge of regret in his stomach. He knew it hadn’t been Q’s fault the asset died, and he stayed on the line as the woman’s last breaths sounded on the earpiece, like he always did. He never left his agents hanging.

When he finally made it down to the garage level he opened the door and saw a car waiting for him. Eve was leaning against the door, twirling something in her hands. Bond limped over to her.

“Eve-”

“You’re such a shit, Bond.”

She stepped towards him and threw something at his head, he caught it easily. It was a roll of bandages. She turned and started walking away, heels clicking on the concrete.

“Where are you going?” Bond asked, leaning on the car to strap his leg.

“Unlike some people, I don’t always fancy being around pissy double-oh’s. I don’t know how he puts up with you, Bond, I really don’t. You’re such a dick, sometimes. I’m getting picked up, see you at HQ.”

She stalked off, not looking back.

Bond slid into the front seat of the car, grateful that he’d been shot in the left leg, so he could still use the pedals. He started the engine.

“Q?”

“He’s not here, 007.” R’s voice sounded back through the earpiece. “He signed off as soon as you got to the garage. Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m coming back now.”

Bond drove in silence, not needing the navigation system, and not wanting the radio. As he arrived at the MI6 headquarters he went straight to Medical and let them work on him without complaining. He made a mental note that this seemed to scare them more than his usual post-mission attitude. He limped down to Medical, a blazing headache settling behind his eyes as the pain in his leg faded from the anaesthetics. He walked straight past R and opened the door to Q’s office, shutting it behind him as he slipped inside. Q was sitting at his computer, the steady stream of typing hesitating for a moment before continuing as if there was no interruption. Bond inhaled and walked around the desk, hating that something physical was between them. After a moment, he spoke.

“My first handler, when I first started as an agent, always turned the earpiece off whenever someone was critically injured. He said it was to give the victim privacy, but he never realised that it was ensuring that the agent had to deal with it alone. There have been a few since then that have done the same thing. But not you.”

The typing finally stopped and Q looked up.

“The only thing worse than being alone, is being alone when you need someone.” Bond knelt beside the desk and looked past his own reflection in Q’s glasses. “I’m sorry. I was frustrated from the mission, which is why I snapped at you, but even so, I should never have said what I did. You never leave your agents, or do something which isn’t for them, and you’ve never left me when I needed you.” He slowly took Q’s hand in both of his own and kissed it, relaxing slightly when Q didn’t pull away. “It was a low blow, particularly in the middle of a mission. But I’ll never not want you to be there, no matter the crap that comes out of my mouth sometimes.”

Q sighed and Bond watched the tension leave his shoulders. It wasn’t the best apology, but Q knew that Bond meant it, and that’s what mattered.

“You going to put up a fight if I take you to Medical before we go home?” He sounded exhausted.

Bond allowed himself a small smile.

“I’ve already gone.”

Q raised his eyebrows, but smiled.

“Good to know you listen to me sometimes. Come on then, home, shower, bed, breakfast in bed.”

“You’ve got work tomorrow.”

“So you better wake up early to make it for me then, shouldn’t you?”

“But I’ve been shot!”

Q gave a dramatic sigh and leant forward to kiss Bond, who savoured the gentleness.

“I suppose you can have a day off then.”

Q saved his work and logged off, looking around his office before closing the door behind him.

“Home?” Bond asked.

“Home.”

They walked slowly back to Q’s car, hand in hand.


End file.
